


The Enchanted Tavern

by Rinkafic



Series: Misc Fanfic [29]
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinkafic/pseuds/Rinkafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done for Kink Bingo fill "Food"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enchanted Tavern

“You’re just making that up, Samwise Gamgee! There is no such thing as an enchanted tavern!” The wide golden eyes staring across the table at the elder hobbit held an expression that was half disbelief and half desperation to have Sam’s words be truth.

“Are you calling me a liar now, Pemble Dorschef? You asked for a tale about my travels and I’m giving you one. I have better things to do than sit here and make up stories for the likes of them what wants to call me a weaver of untruths. Perhaps you should go bother someone else, take Morris and yourself off to another table and leave me to my ale in peace.”

Morris slapped Pemble’s shoulder and cast a dirty look at his friend as he hurriedly said, “Now, now, Old Sam, Pemble was just running off at the mouth. Please, tell us more.”

With a grunt, Old Sam, as he was called these days by most everyone in the Shire, picked up his mug and took a deep pull of his ale. “Now, let me see, it was back in the days when the dark evil threatened the land, your teachers have taught you your history, haven’t they?”

The two young hobbits nodded eagerly. They couldn’t be called boys any longer, in face, as Sam looked them up and down over the brim of his mug, he realized they were older than he himself had been when he set out on that quest so long ago.

“We had traveled many days, through fiery desert, rocky hills and dire swamp, and barely made it out with our lives, Frodo and I had. In the misty distance, we saw a dim light, wavering. As we drew nearer, we saw that it was a lantern, held on a hook, swinging to and fro. Now that I think back on it, that should have been our first clue, for there was no breeze, no wind, nothing to stir the thick foggy mist around us. But yet, the lantern swayed. And yet, it drew us in.”

He paused and took another swig from his mug, though a small one, he knew the barkeep would not allow him another, his grandson, the meddler, had made sure that Sam’s ale was closely rationed.

After a deep breath, he continued. “Now, my friend Frodo, bold as brass and thrice as brave as any hobbit as ever lived, he walked straight up to the door and pushed it open. I followed of course; I couldn’t allow my friend to walk into danger alone.”

“And that’s when you saw the wenches?” Pemble interrupted, earning an irritated shrug from Morris.

“Well, that’s when we saw one of the wenches. She come over to us, pretty as the sun after a long stretch of rain. Hair the color of summer wheat, eyes as blue as a cloudless sky, fair of face and figure she was. But even more enticing than her form were the scents coming from the basket she had looped over one arm. Lads, I tell you now, I had never until that day, nor have I since smelled anything like that basket.” Sam sighed heavily and looked away dreamily, as if in happy recollection of the event he was recounting.

“What was in the basket, Old Sam?” It was Morris interrupting this time, leaning over the table and nearly spilling his ale.

“Oh, lads! Bread and biscuits, fit to make your eyes water and your loins seize up tight with wanting.” Old Sam licked his lips. “Well, the wench showed us to a table and we sat. Soon enough, four wenches came from nowhere and crowded around us. ‘Do you come to eat?’ one of them asked us, and Frodo just nodded. I wonder what our other choices might have been?” Sam looked away again, only returning to the conversation when Pemble cleared his throat loudly and put his mug down with more force than warranted.

Sam looked this way and that over each shoulder, and then leaned in, beckoning the lad to do the same. When they did, he continued in a hushed voice, “They dropped their clothes away, each and every one of the four. Then two of them climbed up on the table between Frodo and I, lying down, pretty as you please. One had hair the color of fire, the other dark as coal, and each was a beautiful as the lass that had met us at the door. The two attending were as shiny bright and golden as my lovely Rosie was in her day. I admit to having a twinge of guilt that I had no thought for Rosie in that place, but I wasn’t married then, and the place was bewitching.”

“What did you do?!?” Pemble exclaimed.

Taking a drink to wet his mouth, Samwise grunted and smiled, “We looked our fill, I’ll tell you that much. Then they started to bring food from the kitchens. A magical place if ever there was one. The smells wafting from the room at the back of the tavern made my mouth water.” He smacked his lips and then licked them for good measure. “The wenches dripped honey along the arms of the black haired beauty in front of me, drawing designs in a language I don’t know, to this day I do not know what the words or symbols meant.”

He sat back a bit in his chair as he realized they were, by and large, being ignored by the other tavern customers. “A parade of food came from that kitchen. Breads and cakes, platters of meat and fish, bowls of vegetables dripping in melted butter or cheese, or both. To our surprise, the serving girls started to lay this feast out before us, right on the bodies of the wenches on our table! What a feast! I had been watching the arrival of another plate of honey and nut cakes and when I turned back, Frodo had started to eat, with his fingers, since they gave us no spoons or knives to use.”

“You ate off the wenches bodies?” Pemble’s jaw had dropped and his eyes were wide in shock.

“Every morsel of that fine feast.” Sam smiled and sipped his ale as Morris and Pemble shared a glance.

“And never was a hobbit so happy to lick the plate clean!” Sam chortled heartily and slapped his knee just as a familiar hobbit came up to their table.

“Ah, Sam, are you telling the orgy story again?” Merry asked as he slid into a chair and signaled the serving lad to bring another mug of ale.

“It’s true?” Morris asked Merry.

“Are you calling my fine friend Samwise Gamgee here a liar, Morris Oble?” Merry gave him a look that dared him to admit that he had considered doing just that.

Morris quickly shook his head. “No, no, of course not. But you have to admit it is a bit farfetched.”

“Off with the pair of you, we’ve no time to suffer fools!” Merry dismissed the younger hobbits with a wave of his hand. “Come back when you’ve a brain between you!”

When the lads had scampered off, Merry and Sam shared a look and then burst out laughing. “What version did you tell this time, Sam? The bed big enough for six, the door of endless wenches, the magic plate or the bottomless ale mug?”

“The feast off naked wenches,” Sam replied with a chuckle as he sipped the ale from the mug he had swapped out with Merry’s. Merry did not have a meddlesome grandson to limit his ale intake, and Sam’s friend was always willing to share. Sam smiled and let his mind drift away to thoughts of lush and buxom wenches covered in sweet fluffy cream and sliced berries and drizzled in honey.

 

The End


End file.
